The Way of the Shaman

The shaman. 

The one who has died many times. 

The one who shape-shifts. 

The one who transmutes. 

The one who is on fire. 

The one who rises from the ashes.

As soon as I put an offering for Rufino on my altar and left the space, a fire ignited and extinguished itself before my return moments later. Although my initial reaction was one of worry, I tracked the dance of the blaze and the poignant mementos it had left behind. As I settled into my heart space, I realised that perhaps it was an exchange. A confirmation of his safe passing. A remembering of my inner knowing that death is not negative or finite, it is but a change of form. 

Several weeks ago, an old friend of mine began to visit me in my dreams. Damien passed two years ago, and was just now making his presence as a brotherly protector known. In one dream, he pulled up beside me as I walked down a street. I got into his car and looked at him in shock, not wanting to tell him why I was concerned to see him alive and well. After questioning me, I told him I thought he was dead, he had to be, I had seen it in the paper and online. He looked me in the eye, smirked, and said “Sure Drea, I’ve died many times!”

Such is the cycle of life. We face many symbolic and literal deaths as we journey through our seasons, but with these comes not a finite end, but a change of form. We may be on fire, but we rise from the ashes. Such is the way of the shaman.